Bloodlust ti2, p.25
Bloodlust - TI2, page 25
“He eez right,” she muttered. “Thees eez awful.”
Circling the date and time of the performance, she called Boudreau and ordered him to get her a ticket to one of the evening shows. If Ms. Lysanne was as good as the articles proclaimed, Lucretia wanted to know why.
* * *
Mayhew Porteur loved his aunt, even though she seemed a little over the top sometimes. Still, her strange brews helped him deal with the medicines his doctor was prescribing for his illness. Whether they actually were improving his immune system was another issue, but as long as he felt good, he could at least pretend he was better.
Even his friends commented on the positive changes since taking her potions. After putting up with their continued nagging, he finally confided in a few who suffered from the same disease. They too wanted to try her treatments. Desperation made people willing to do almost anything.
Mayhew had pretty much given up hope on a cure for HIV/AIDS being developed in his lifetime. He still maintained a zest for life and the desire to live as long as possible, if he could enjoy it with his friends.
Although most people thought him carefree and easygoing, he was a practical young man. Arrangements were already made for how he would end his life once the disease ran its course. His closest friends were instructed to throw a big bash and invite everyone they knew.
Mayhew had obtained several prescriptions from a local doctor who was sympathetic to AIDS victims and the stigma attached. The doctor had assured him death would be as easy as falling asleep.
Back at his small apartment, he called his latest conquest, Cornelius, and invited him over. Cornelius was also HIV positive; both felt they could indulge in a carefree relationship without the worries of condoms or passing on the virus. He also liked to keep the young man informed of his aunt’s latest antics, especially since her potions made his life easier by easing the symptoms and pains.
Throwing himself on the bed, he groaned when a cramp seized his lower abdomen.
“Damn!” he muttered, reaching down to massage the area. Rolling on his side, he brought his knees up in a fetal position, hoping to ease the pain. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much, so he grabbed a bottle of painkillers, poured four tablets into his hand, and swallowed them. Grimacing at the bitter taste, he tossed the bottle aside and rolled on his back, drawing his knees toward his chest.
“This shit is the worst yet,” he grumbled, referring to his aunt’s brews. Another wave of pain scorched his insides like hot coals searing flesh. Gasping, sweat beaded across his forehead and trickled into his eyes and down his cheeks. Mayhew groaned and stretched his trembling hand toward the phone, deciding he needed to call 911.
Another spasm tore through his insides. Clutching his stomach, he could only lay curled in a tight ball, hoping each attack would be the last. Eventually, pain and exhaustion took its toll and he slipped into a restless sleep. His muscles slowly relaxed.
Several hours later, Mayhew awoke. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, testing each muscle. Feeling no discomfort, he pushed his luck by sitting up. Once perched on the edge of the bed, he was surprised at how well he actually felt.
The achiness that normally accompanied his waking hours was gone, leaving only a pleasant warmth. Perhaps there was something to his aunt’s potion this time, he thought. He hadn’t felt this good in over a year.
Wanting to share the good news, he dialed Cornelius’s cell number and invited him out for dinner.
Already he was formulating a plan to talk his aunt into giving him some of the potion for his lover.
CHAPTER 29
DRUMS BEAT SLOWLY as the dancers circled the fires chanting, their voices low and the words unintelligible. The tempo increased and they moved faster. Their chant grew louder, drowning out the incessant pounding of the drums.
As the voices reached a crescendo, four men emerged from the shadows carrying the body of a woman high in the air. In unison, the crowd turned to stare at the sacrifice being lowered onto the altar between two bonfires. Her hands and arms were bound and chained to large rings imbedded in the altar. Blindfolded, the woman was unable to see her captors. Still, she pulled hard against the bindings, testing their strength. Finally exhausted, she lay quiet.
Dressed in a bright red and black ankle-length gown, another woman entered the circle and walked to the altar. As high priestess, no one dared to challenge her. Tall and dark-skinned with an exquisite body, she exuded power and beauty. Smiling, she reached down to stroke the captive’s cheek.
The drums quieted. The chanters milled about nervously, moving first in one direction then turning to move in the opposite. Suddenly, a loud scream erupted from the darkness. A young white woman ran from the shadows and threw herself upon the prone body of the bound woman. Sobbing, she pleaded with the priestess; the futility of her efforts was obvious.
Pulled aside by two chanters, she could only watch as the black woman picked up a large knife and twirled it around in her hands. Dancing wildly amongst her followers, she slashed at several ropes that were displayed by the men, slicing them easily in half. No one doubted the sharpness of the knife.
Next, she jabbed it sharply into a log, demonstrating its strength and then yanked it out. Cries of awe rang out from the crowd as she jumped high into the air and landed lightly on her feet. Twirling rapidly and circling the altar three times, she moved gracefully, swinging the knife hypnotically in various directions. Her own body undulated from side to side, hips swaying seductively like a serpent moving in for the kill.
Nearing her victim, she raised her arm to strike. The young white woman broke free from her own captor and threw herself between the downward thrust of the knife and the intended sacrifice. The chanters fell silent when a large puff of smoke bellowed up, concealing the three women. A scream pierced the stillness. The smoke cleared, revealing the knife buried deep in the altar. The priestess stood motionless, partially concealed by the smoke. The captives had vanished.
The audience gasped. Except for the altar having been concealed momentarily by smoke, the entire stage had remained in full view of the spectators. There was no way the chained captive and the young woman could have disappeared without being noticed. Slowly, the priestess turned and walked to the front of the stage. It took several seconds before the front row spectators realized the victim on the altar had morphed into the priestess.
Jumping to their feet, they clapped and cheered. Immediately, the rest of the audience followed suit when they recognized the Illusionist dressed in the priestess’s gown. Bowing slightly, Yemaya swung her right hand to the right. Walking on stage, hands clasped, was the original high priestess and the young woman. Both waved enthusiastically to the crowd. Cheers reverberated through the coliseum. Once again, the Illusionist had mystified her audience.
Dakota sat quietly listening to the applause. She always made it a point not to visit Yemaya during rehearsals so she would have an unbiased opinion of the show and the audience’s response. Her old boss had agreed to pay her handsomely for any articles she sent pertaining to the Illusionist, her personal life, or her performances.
For Dakota, the personal life of her lover was off-limits, but Yemaya didn’t object to Dakota’s attempts at exposing her trade secrets. Yemaya realized Dakota’s investigative skills were impressive and suspected some of her secrets would eventually be revealed. To have her lover in her life was worth the sacrifice.
This particular show left Dakota drained and somewhat uncomfortable. Perhaps the theme hit too close to home. Every time Yemaya performed, she was putting her life on the line. Except for the time Shezarra, the great white, had crashed through the platform in Charleston, throwing Yemaya into the water, all her shows had been flawless. Of course, the Charleston catastrophe was the result of sabotage, so Dakota really couldn’t count it as anything other than that.
* * *
The Illusionist strolled around the stage acknowledging the crowd’s continued appreciation and waited for the noise to subside. Sensing her lover’s unease, she stopped in front of Dakota and winked. Shaking her head, Dakota chuckled softly. Yemaya was irresistible when she flirted. The Illusionist turned back to her audience and held up her hands to silence the crowd.
“Again thank you for attending tonight’s performance. I hope my show is all you hoped it would be. If I have given you a few moments of wonder or taken away a few worries these past two hours, this night has been successful for all of us. As always, I leave you with this thought: Whatever you think you have seen tonight, it is merely illusion, but if you believe it to be real, it will be. The same is so in your lives. Look closely at those who seek to influence you. You may find that most of what you are told or shown are illusions, illusions created by others to serve their own purposes. You be the judge of what is real and leave the illusions to me. Good night, everyone!”
She waved farewell to the audience. As she left the stage, Yemaya stopped for a moment and stared toward a darkened corner of the coliseum. It was obvious something or someone had caught her attention. Dakota turned in her seat to see what Yemaya was looking at but was unable to see anything but shadows. By the time her gaze returned to Yemaya, she had disappeared behind the curtains. Dakota slipped from her seat and walked backstage.
“What’s up?”
“Just a feeling!”
“Whenever that happens, it usually means something. You have any ideas?”
“No, but I could feel someone watching us. I may have given our relationship away when I looked at you a few minutes ago.”
“I think we did that a long time ago, sweetie. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see where this leads, though. Knowing our luck, it won’t be long before we find out,” she joked. “Until then, how about we grab a bite to eat and get some rest? You look like hell.”
“Thanks. You sure know how to make a woman feel good.”
Dakota grinned impishly. “I most certainly do.”
CHAPTER 30
LUCRETIA SAT QUIETLY watching the woman on stage. She had spent several days reading as much as possible about the Illusionist. If the reports were accurate, no one had yet solved the mystery behind the woman or her magic. The fact that she was from an area of the world known for its supernatural connections only added to her mystique.
Her blood combined with Ramus’s would ensure a cure for her nephew, and for her, unlimited power and immortality. Of that, she was sure after observing the woman’s performance.
Obviously, Bondye wanted her to know about the Illusionist so she could have her powers. Why else would she have appeared so quickly in New Orleans, almost unannounced? What other explanation could there be since the Illusionist normally scheduled her tours well in advance and this one was so spontaneous?
For two weeks, the television and radio stations had been inundated with advertisements about her upcoming show. Fliers were posted throughout the French Quarter. Everywhere she went, pictures of the mysterious Illusionist announced her one-time appearance, and whispers circulated that this was to be her final show before retiring. Yes, it had to be Bondye’s intervention that influenced her coming to New Orleans.
Excited by the thought, Lucretia decided she had seen enough. Boudreau was waiting outside with the car and she hated crowds. She was about to stand when she saw Yemaya stop in front of a woman and smile. Obviously, the recipient was special to her. Finding out her identity might prove valuable. As if reading her thoughts, the Illusionist suddenly focused her attention in Lucretia’s direction and frowned. The woman seated in the front row turned and looked back toward the high priestess. Not wishing to draw attention to herself, Lucretia remained seated until they both lost interest. Then she quietly left, unaware that two other people had been watching her from several rows away.
* * *
“She is the one you are looking for,” Sarpe said, nodding in the direction of the high priestess.
“Who is she?”
“She believes she is the chosen priesstesss to the high sspirit, Bondye.”
“Is she?”
Shrugging, Sarpe didn’t answer for a few seconds. “That isn’t for me to ssay.”
“Meaning Bondye is real?”
“Bondye is very real. Whether thiss sspirit is who they believe it to be is another matter,” she said mysteriously. “To these people, Bondye is male. To other cultures, he becomes female.”
“Have you ever met Bondye?”
“I meet many sspiritss,” Sarpe answered evasively, shrugging again. “Mosst are unimpresssive, but Bondye is not one to take lightly.”
“I’ll take that as a yes and that you don’t wish to discuss this particular spirit at the moment. So from your earlier comment, this woman isn’t necessarily in Bondye’s good graces.”
“I do not presume to know the minds of sspirits nor intervene in their affairs or those of mortals.”
“Until recently,” Ekimmu teased, patting the Sarpe’s hand affectionately.
“Until ressently. Don’t let what I’ve ssaid fool you. Thiss woman is very dangerous without Bondye’s ssupport. She’s powerful amongsst her people and has a very loyal following.”
“If that’s the case, why did she need Ramus?”
“For the ssame reason she watches thiss one. She craves power.”
Frowning, Ekimmu turned to watch the retreating woman. “What has Yemaya or Ramus got to do with power?”
“Nothing and everything. There are those who believe your people possess great powers.”
Ekimmu nodded reluctantly.
“That alone makess you a target for the ambitiouss. Yemaya is beautiful and myssteriousss. Many would do anything to possesss those qualities. She has been hunted by ssome already and ssadly will be by others all her life.”
“So we have something in common.”
“Yess. You have much in common. More than you can imagine. You both are haunted by the hisstory of your anssesstors. She protectss her people, as a mother would her children, but within her lives a great darknesss that could one day desstroy her.”
“A darkness?”
“Yess. You ssaw it when she confronted Ramus.”
“And what about me?”
“The ssame. You bear the sscars of your anssesstors and your people. Have you not traveled thiss world ssearching for ssomething or ssomeone to bring sstability to your existensse?”
Ekimmu laughed softly. “I’m not so sure of that. I keep on the move from necessity, as do all my people. We can’t change our appearances like a certain spirit I know.”
“True, but that is not what preventss you from taking lovers.”
“No, time does that. We are long lived. It’s too painful to be with someone for only a few years, to watch them grow old. Even love can’t overcome aging or the jealousy that inevitably comes from seeing oneself growing weak and feeble while the one you love remains young and vibrant.”
“It is not nessessarily inevitable. Would you have me believe that you will feel thiss jealoussy in a hundred or a thousand years if we were to remain lovers? I am a sspirit. I will not age, as you musst in time.”
Ekimmu switched her gaze from the priestess to Sarpe. She worried about their future together. It was an issue she had deliberately avoided thinking about when possible. Now she had no choice but to face her fears.
“I don’t know. I try not to think about my own feelings, only how you would feel once I’m gone.”
“And if I ssaid I would ssurvive your death and go on as I was meant to? Would you be hurt or dissappointed?” Sarpe asked, her golden eyes momentarily changing to the elliptical shape of the serpent. It was evident the spirit was experiencing some deep emotion. Ekimmu could only guess at what it was.
“I would hope that you find someone else to share your life. I never want you to be alone again. I know loneliness. Maybe not as long as you have, but even in my short life, by your standards, it was almost unbearable. At least I had family and a few friends.”
“Ah! You are misstaken about me. I have a family. They are my friends. Ssome have lassted a lifetime, my lifetime,” Sarpe said nonchalantly, as if to minimize the importance of Ekimmu’s words.
“Then I’m happy for you,” Ekimmu said truthfully, but not in the least fooled by her lover’s answer. “It must be wonderful to have a friendship that lasts so long, but I think we both know we’re not discussing friends or family. I have no doubt you cherish yours as I do mine, but they do not keep me warm, nor raise my emotions to such heights or depths as you do.”
Sarpe stared at Ekimmu for several seconds, then smiled the most beautiful smile Ekimmu had ever seen. Elliptical eyes twinkled, reflecting an inner light far greater than any outside source could create. Lips drawn back exposed shiny white teeth. Two dimples appeared, giving her an impish look.
